


lucky number seven

by ravenraiyes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4101157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenraiyes/pseuds/ravenraiyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy’s left there spluttering out, “We can probably fake it, right, they can’t tell the difference -” before Clarke cuts through his words with a decisive, “You know I don’t talk with my mouth full, Reyes, so shut the hell up.”</p><p>Oh god.</p><p>He’s going to go to hell.</p><p>(Or, the one where they play Seven Minutes in Heaven and Bellamy's sure he's going to burn in hell for being attracted to Clarke Griffin. But then again, who can blame him?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	lucky number seven

**Author's Note:**

> for [starr](http://starqued.tumblr.com/)
> 
> first time actually writing anything remotely smutty oops

Bellamy absently wonders when Clarke went from just ‘ _his little sister’s best friend_ ’ to ‘ _really hot - i’m talking about a 15/10 possibly - chick that he really should’ve hit yesterday_ ’, when he lays eyes on the blonde during a party that Wick’s hosting in hopes to woo Raven Reyes.

 

Who, coincidentally, was taken by the very same douche who was attempting to chat up said Clarke Griffin.

 

Bellamy reluctantly agrees that not only is he a horrible person for wanting to bang his little sister’s best friend, but all his friends are too, for various reasons.

 

That’s okay - they're all going to burn in hell together one day anyway.

 

Gripping his red SOLO cup just a little tighter, he watches as Finn whispers something to Clarke over the pounding bass, and she smiles politely in return.

 

He thinks, _God I really hope you’re as smart as I remember, Griffin_ , mainly because she used to be the most annoying kid he’d ever known - and he had Octavia as a sister - thanks to the engaging intellectual fights that she’d start with him just to prove him wrong.

 

Seriously.

 

He swears, after a long day at high school, she’d be there with a copy of a book and a fire in her eyes, and of course, an opinion that was so fucking outrageous (he always managed to disagree with her on literally everything they read, from _Huckleberry Finn_ to _Harry Potter_ ) that it was the courteous thing to do to prove her wrong.

 

She had a tally count and everything, and he’s proud to say that before they all parted their respective ways, he was in the lead by one, thanks to his valid points on the _Percy Jackson_ series.

 

For some reason, his brain still isn’t caught up to speed just yet, unable to compute this bombshell with the girl he grew up with a couple years ago - jesus _christ_ , he swears just yesterday she and O were in the backyard, plotting revenge with water balloons on the boys from the next door, but now?

 

She’s bringing all the boys to her yard, now.

 

And Bellamy can’t decide whether to be one of those boys, or be the annoying asshole he always was - still is, in fact - and protect her from those very sleazebags.

 

But before he can do anything rash (read: anything remotely dickish), she says something to Finn, smiling coyly while the other guy turns as white as a sheet and turns around in the other direction, practically fleeing from the scene while he can.

 

Bellamy whistles under his breath appreciatively, taking a sip of his beer and turning away before she could catch his wandering gaze - that would be awkward - thinking that, well, Clarke’s got it on her own.

 

She’s never needed him anyway.

 

+++

 

Wick is currently gathering participants for his game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, which he’d confided to Bellamy was his foolproof way of getting a kiss from Raven tonight - Bellamy may or may not have thought of Clarke while Wick was going on and on about Reyes and yep, they’re definitely going to hell.

 

“It’s genius, man!” Wick had grinned, slapping Bellamy on the back while the party raged on, “We get to kiss, she gets to see how much of an _amazing_ kisser I am and maybe, if I get lucky enough, she’ll dump his sorry ass for mine.”

 

He then went on to talk about his sexual prowess (“Seven whole minutes, Bell! Do you know what I could do in _seven_ minutes?” “Yeah, Wick, no thanks.” “Seven-” “No. Thanks.”) for a good several minutes before Bellamy had to forcibly wrangle his hand around his best friend’s mouth.

 

As he’s sitting on the floor of Wick’s bedroom - _in an isolated part of the house_ , Wick had said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, ushering the select few he had chose to play through his doors, _for maximum enjoyment_ \- Bellamy offhandedly wonders if he could buy a ticket (make that several, actually) to heaven, because there’s no way that they would be on that list.

 

Because, as he’s said before, they’re going to hell.

 

As the dutiful best friend of course, Bellamy has no other choice to join the party, and he’s pleasantly surprised to see Clarke here too, with smoky eyeliner that really does wonders for her eyes and a dark blue dress that sticks to her very generous curves, grinning happily at him as she takes the seat opposite him.

 

“Bellamy!” She exclaims, but makes no move to hug him, which he thinks is good, because Clarke at a distance is doing things to him that he should be hung for, but Clarke in close range might make him do things that he’ll later regret.

 

 _Distance_ , he reminds himself, as he returns her sentiment, shooting her a smile in return, waving at her from across the circle.

 

As they settle in, with Wick sitting next to him as Raven settles in next to Clarke, who apparently know each other (what a small world), he can’t help but let his gaze linger on her, marveling at just how well she’s aged over the years.

 

Well, Bellamy knows he’s already going to hell, but he’ll let himself enjoy this little victory, alright?

 

+++

 

Of course, the distance vow goes to utter fucking shit when he spins the stupid bottle when it's his turn.

 

Because the universe just flat out hates him, it lands on her.

 

“Bellamy!” Wick says way too enthusiastically, like he’s seen the looks that Bellamy’s been sneaking Clarke’s way ever since the damn game started. “And you are?”

 

“Clarke,” she supplies ever so helpfully, grinning devilishly as she makes her way to Wick’s surprisingly spacious closet.

 

“Clarke,” Wick echoes, shooting him a shit-eating grin as he gestures to her, “It’s time for you to get in the closet!”

 

Raven snorts, “This isn’t the Price is Right, Wick - you don’t need to narrate everything like it’s a fucking game show.”

 

“I’m offended Reyes - you should know by now, theatrics make everything a hundred times more interesting - but I’m just happy to see my boy Bellamy finally get some -” Wick says, but he’s interrupted by Clarke, who has positioned herself in the doorway of said closet, and _fuck_ , Bellamy doesn’t know whether to run or join her in there.

 

“Are you coming?” she asks before he can panic, eyebrows raised, voice sultry as Bellamy gapes at her from his position on the floor, and oh man, he is so _fucked._

 

He scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over them in haste as he races to the closet, following Clarke’s swinging hips, ignoring the hoots of, “Go get ‘em, tiger,” from his best friend, slamming the door behind them.

 

“Sorry about that, Wick is kind of a dick. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Clarke,” he begins to say, because he really hadn’t thought this over, because it’s pitch black, he can’t really see Clarke’s face so he’s really hoping that lump of particular darkness is her, and oh god, is he sweating, he probably is -

 

“Only kind of?” Clarke asks wryly, and Bellamy relaxes a bit at the familiar tone of her voice. This Clarke, this he can deal with.

 

“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but then he’s interrupted by Raven yelling, “I don’t hear anything, Griffin!”

 

Bellamy’s left there spluttering out, “We can probably fake it, right, they can’t tell the difference -” before Clarke cuts through his words with a decisive, “You know I don’t talk with my mouth full, Reyes, so shut the hell up.”

 

Oh god.

 

He’s going to go to hell.

 

“Or we could do that." He acknowledges, hoping that she can’t tell how shaken up he is, because he is trapped in a motherfucking closet with Clarke Griffin and she just made an innuendo about giving head.

 

To him.

 

"I could make some moaning sounds, I guess? You know, to throw 'em off -" Bellamy tries again, trying to gage her reaction, but Clarke lets out a dissatisfied noise (which, of course, Bellamy finds hot because every fucking thing about Clarke is hot now apparently) in the dark and moves so that she's trapped him against the walls.

 

"For one, Bellamy, I want to do plenty of things to you," she breathes hotly into his ear, nibbling at his earlobe - _holyfuckholyfuckholyfuck_ \- wrapping her arms around his neck, hopping up so she could properly wrap her legs around his hips - there are parts of her that should not be touching him - and his hands grip the undersides of her thighs of their own volition, reveling in those soft curves that he'd been admiring just a few minutes prior.

 

"And," she says as she moves to his neck, making obscenely wet noises with her mouth, "I've always found the real thing to be better than pretend."

 

That does it for him, and okay, maybe she accentuates that with a swivel of her hips that he just has to reciprocate, earning him a moan for his trouble, and her a smirk.

 

"A little bit eager there, huh, princess?" he asks, reverting back to his childhood nickname for her as he grabs her ass firmly and shifts them so she has her back against the walls, and _holy fuck, he's making out with Clarke Griffin_ and _it's really good oh my god where did she learn to do that with her tongue?_

"Shut up and kiss me, Blake," she mutters, using the distraction to grind against him once again, and yeah, okay, making out he can do.

 

(The appreciative moan that she lets out after he's forced to pull away, coupled with plump, ripe lips, blossoming red cheeks - the very clear ' _i was very nearly close to fucking_ ' look on her face - when Wick opens the door with covered eyes and a, "It's been fourteen fucking minutes you animals!" is a pretty good testament to Bellamy's extensive kissing repertoire.)

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? comments? kudos??
> 
> i'm at [grounderbell](http://grounderbell.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want to request any aus / prompts


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